Beyond the Blue Light

by V. Anh Perigaea

  She fell into the maze once more, anxious to distance herself from such a haunted place. In her fervor, she jerked her ankle over the rough terrain, but continued on, fueled by a manic fear simmering just beneath the surface. The maze turned at strange angles and awkward corners, down twisting stone steps and past structures she daren’t stop to inspect. As she went, the landscape changed. It was now wrought with abnormalities and structural imperfections, as if generations had repaired and added to it in their own way.

  This place must be very old, she thought.

  Soon, she passed a place where small sets of stairs led down into the earth toward what looked like tombs, each surrounded by ornate iron gates. The image chilled her, and she rushed on, fearful that closer inspection might insight a maniacal terror to send her running into the dark passages all about her, where she would get even more lost. Her quest lay beyond, she knew it. She must try to keep courage, though fear clouded all that lay before and behind. She kept her gaze straight ahead, in case something that caught her eye might be rendered gruesome in the light of the black candle’s glow. She endeavored to keep her thoughts calm and neutral, focusing on mundanities - like the terrain under her feet and her balance upon it. The twists, turns, corners, overgrown structures and stone steps continued on for so long that they became commonplace. And soon, her heart was reasonably calm again.

  Turn after dark turn, step after awkward step, when it seemed the maze must stretch on into eternity, she looked up to see a break in the wall. Just down the passage, a large chasm opened out into the darkness. She rushed towards it, if not out of excitement for what lay beyond, for the thrill of no longer being incased within the labyrinth’s walls. Cool air rushed her face as she stood in the chasm. She’d reached the back end of the labyrinth, and before her, the ground dipped down into a gully. At the bottom of the gully a forest broke, where old trees hung heavily over the ground, creating an impenetrable shade beneath their branches. With a jolt, she realized it was the place she’d seen in her dream, where she’d come upon a man standing at the edge of a stream. She didn’t think on it, and tried not to focus on the cold thrill of fear in her heart. She only moved forward, as if hypnotized, her feet carrying her to an inevitability.

  She stepped down onto the yielding, wet ground and walked to the edge of the gully, sliding down the muddy slope. At the bottom, the ground was especially soft, and her feet sank into the mud. The tunnel before her, created by the overhanging branches, was terribly black, stretching out before her like the throat of some great monster. In her dream, it’d been clear of all impediments; but now brush overtook it, and greenery dangled from the branches like vines in a jungle. She walked slowly, moving vine and branch from her path. Dim slithers of moonlight shown through the trees, painting dark blue patchwork on the ground. The sounds around her had changed from a cloudy silence to those of a forest - the croaks of frogs, crickets and the gentle tinkling of water surrounding her. Owls hooted, and in the distance a wolf cried. She made her way slowly, surprised that she could be more frightened than she’d been in the labyrinth.

  Soon, she saw a small hollow by a stream, where moonlight sparkled off the winding waters. She stood for a moment, listening to it bubble. It was the place from her dream, where the man had stood in shadow, silhouetted by moonlight. The place looked rather the same, if slightly overgrown. She looked about, waiting for the man to appear, or for something to happen, thinking this must have been the place she was drawn to.

  She waited several moments in anxious silence, listening intently and jumping at every sound. When would he appear? Would he offer her some relic, or some key to all this? Some kernel of wisdom? Or perhaps a weapon? What would happen? There must be some secret this place could reveal to her. She stood for a long time, nothing but the tinkling of the stream keeping her company.

  She thought back to the dream and tried to remember something of significance. Nothing spoken by the man in her dream struck her. No sense of affinity alighted her soul. She only remembered his dark form, the comfort of his presence and the small line of smoke that wafted up from his mouth in thin folds. Then she realized - it’d been Valefar. Yes, it’d been him. A warmness overcame her as she realized it, but beyond the simple fact, it offered no epiphany nor sense of direction.

  Perhaps she’d lost her way. Had she? Had she been foolish to come out here, following some strange fancy? Had this all been of her own imagining? She stood by the stream, searching her heart and mind, feeling confused. Nothing came to her. Nothing happened. She looked about, seeing only dark forest, shadows and the tunnel of greenery sprawling off into the dark. She didn’t know what lay beyond, but decided to walk on, if only to reset her thoughts.

  The tunnel expanded into submerging darkness, her candle a talisman against the fearful blackness of the night. She stepped carefully over vines and around hanging branches as she considered the dream, wondering why she could’ve been drawn here. Though she’d meant to clear her head, her walk was consumed by deep thought.

  The way became darker, but the tunnel was still clearly outlined. It seemed to continue on forever. Suddenly, the darkness before her forked into two separate directions. One side continued to the left, the larger of the two options that continued the main path. To the right a smaller, arched pathway - one that seemed to have been molded out of brown, leafless branches - led off into the dark. Without thinking, she moved automatically toward this small path.

  The way was surprisingly navigable. Not so many large branches had overtaken it, and the ones that had were thin. The terrain was dry and rolling, an uncultivated trail carved out by the land. When she came out of her thoughts long enough to notice, it was to the realization that her ears were ringing again and her heart fluttering quickly. The sensation she’d felt in the manor house, when coming upon Madame Gurza’s chamber, had returned. She felt dazed with it, as if some hidden part of her was taking over, or she was watching herself from without. She didn’t know what was going on, but she allowed her feet to carry her onwards. It wasn’t a long trail, and at the end she came upon a small clearing.

  The shuddering in her hands became violent, uncontrollable as she looked upon a gothic stone bench at it’s center. It’s thick middle piece arched up towards the sky in a spire, and it’s back - which faced her - showed carved frescoes of creatures embracing in struggle, angels and demons, their faces marked with generations of wear. Despite the ache in her chest, and a trembling fear that’d taken over her, filling her with fatigue, she walked slowly toward it. Her heart felt debilitated, overworked from all the turmoil that’d pounded through it’s chambers of late, making her weak and breathless as she circled to the bench’s other side.

  When her eyes alighted on the black stains that marked it’s seat, a painful groan escaped her throat and her whole body wrenched from within. She was gasping each breath now as desperate tears clouded her eyes. They gushed from her uncontrollably, as a tightness gripped her chest. It was as if she was crying someone else’s tears, but with each moment they became more her own, blurring her vision and streaming down her cheeks in warm lines as she moved toward the bench. She couldn’t understand the feelings that were overwhelming her, or place their origin. Her hand lifted and reached out - as if on it’s own - to touch the black stains. Her jaw clenched as she got closer, contracting hard. Her whole body braced against something she didn’t want to see, or know, but could sense rising up before her like a violent tide. It washed over her mind and every straining muscle, breaking through all their resistance. The ringing grew to a bellowing hum, the call of another place overtaking her consciousness. It enveloped every cell as her fingers touched the cold, rough stone; and then it entered her body, tearing it apart. She screamed as she was broken and every thought was torn. Her mouth released a hoarse wail as true and deepest sorrow poured from her chest. She couldn’t cry hard enough. She couldn’t release the pain from it’s chamber, for it lived deep at her core, buried beneath long years of illusion and fe
ar. She’d come to an understanding, one that’d burned low within her all her life, one too terrifying to face. A remembrance. On the bench below, a spectral form was splayed. A grown woman dressed in strange, old-fashioned clothing lay lifeless upon her side, arms dangling limply. Blood streamed from her body, and on the ground beneath her lay a dagger - the fine one she’d seen in Madame Gurza’s chamber. Staring lifelessly into the skies, her own eyes looked out of the woman’s face, reflecting the dim light and the intricate shapes carved from the leaves above.

  She screamed in horror. She screamed hoarsely until all her stamina should’ve been gone. But her stores had somehow become eternal, pouring from somewhere behind her mind, a place so powerful that it seized her. In her heart, she wished to change this woman’s fate, to deny it’d happened at all. But with each passing moment, she knew it could not be done, for it’d already unravelled. Moaning, she averted her eyes, trying to fend off the horror as her body shook with mournful sobs.

  But she knew she couldn’t look away. She’d been doing that all her life. She looked into the woman’s eyes, placid as they reflected the moon’s light, and their pain became her own. She embraced it, fearful as it was, absorbing it into herself. As she did, thousands of small flashes flooded her mind - memories long forgotten. She ingested pain as she hemorrhaged it, her heart a receptive scramble of sensation. Then her knees gave out and she was falling down, down, down into the earth; soaring into the darkness. The wind blasted her face as she fell, suffocating her as she soared into the black. She could gain no bearing on anything around her, despite flailing efforts as she whipped downward with meteoric speed; lashing against her descent with a desperate desire to regain mastery of her fate. But eventually, her muscles became the wiser and gave up control. They could not altar what happened now. There was nothing left. No resistance to give, no fight to be fought. She had been overpowered by life. And she soared in peaceful, passive sorrow towards her end.

  CHAPTER 35

  Anhur

  It took a good deal of time for her to wake. It took even longer to find the strength or interest to open her eyes. When she did, she was laying in a dusty, awkward pile atop something hard that pushed into her back. The light about her was cold and dim. She lifted herself up painfully, the floor beneath caking her hands with dust. Looking around, she was inside a square room lined with shelves made of simple, dry wood, and floors of the same. Dust covered every surface, and the sound of vast echoing space surrounded her. As she listened, a strange cry echoed far in the distance, sending a shiver through her bones.

  In the shelves against the walls, and all about the floors, old books were stacked in chaotic piles. They covered the floorboards, leaving only a small, snaking walkway to crawl through precariously. She was laying on top of one such pile now. As she got up, she noticed that some of the nearby books were missing their covers, while others were badly stained and appeared to be worthless - not even worth a farthing - useless paperbacks, ripped, fragmented and broken. She brushed off a cover or two, attempting to study them, but finding it near impossible in their tattered state.

  On either side of the room were doorless thresholds that led out to ...something. She couldn’t tell what, but what lay beyond was dark. Steadying herself, she dusted off her skirts and held her aching head, then climbed awkwardly around the piles of books towards the nearest doorway. Stepping through the threshold, she could hardly believe her eyes.

  She stood at the edge of a dangerously corroded, wooden balcony, looking over a vast expanse. She was within a great, hollow structure - greater than any she knew of that existed on earth - with ancient, carved walls standing several hundred feet high. Large, arched frames were carved into them, but shone no light from beyond, only flat stone. The whole structure was like a massive, ancient warehouse, with a decided feeling of being underground.

  Within this grand structure, giant pillars rose into the air like tall, thin buildings. They were square in shape and rose incredibly high, each climbing to about one hundred and fifty feet, she guessed. At the top of each was a room - like the one she’d just come out of - with a rough, thin balcony circling it. She was standing upon one such balcony now, at least a hundred feet above the ground, choking back a feeling of vertigo.

  The pillars were connected to each other, and to the wall of the greater structure, by wooden sky-bridges wide enough to oblige only a single passenger. Whether they were actually stable enough to carry anyone at all was another question entirely. Precarious gaps showed between their beams and they appeared terribly eroded.

  Around the ancient wall of the greater structure, a narrow walkway crept along the perimeter in a crooked line, a hundred feet or more above the ground. The nearest pillar with a bridge that reached the outer wall was almost a hundred feet away, and the wall nearly two hundred feet from it.

  The air echoed in a cool, hollow, cacophonous hum; while faint sounds of distress blew in on a draft. A pale light shown, but from where she couldn’t tell, for there were no windows. Despite the grandeur of the place, there was a decided feeling of decrepitude. The construction was archaic, reminding her of etchings she’d seen in Mr. Elkstein’s history books of the ancient cities of the past. It didn’t seem to have been built with care, or to invite practical use, as most buildings she’d seen. It seemed fashioned to accommodate a single caretaker, rather than be perused by masses.

  She felt like a grave robber disturbing a place where none had tread for centuries. An icy sensation ran up her back, disturbing her thoughts - that her presence was unwanted, even forbidden. She sensed she was not alone, that some presence slept in the air, and she mustn’t awaken it’s wrath. She wasn’t safe or welcome in this place, she could feel it. And it filled her with a trembling dread.

  A wolf watches here, she thought, without knowing why.

  She stepped out onto the thin, treacherous bridge, her heart catching in her throat as the boards creaked, and hollow depths echoed beneath her feet. The bridge was made of simple boards crossed over long planks. The railings were of carved wood, low, insufficient and caked with dust. She tried not to think of their structural inferiority, or look down. But it was nigh impossible, for she had to carefully plan each step across gaps of open air.

  Luckily, the dry boards held true, and she eventually reached the other side, which was connected to another great pillar. Within it was another square room like the last, with piles of old books jumbled so high she couldn’t walk more than a few steps past the doorway. They also seemed to have been discarded long ago, forgotten and left to rot.

  She’d gain nothing by remaining here, lost among discarded volumes. Her cowardice cried to stay put, rather than step foot upon another of the treacherous skybridges. But she knew she must search for a way out. She spotted a way down, a long path that stretched along the wall of the greater structure like an old trail carved into the side of a rock face. It looked patched together, tilting at a point and eventually reaching the ground. Sighing, she knew the only way to reach it was by another perilous bridge - one just as dilapidated as the last and twice as long. She took a deep breath and approached it, surveying the long brown line it drew through the dark, stretching out and disappearing into the dim light. Would it sway as she travelled across? Would it bow and break? Her imagination ran wild.

  She took her first step carefully and continued on in a similar fashion, taking a great deal of time. There were larger gaps between the boards in this bridge, and once or twice she had to shimmy along the outer frame of the bridge, holding tight to the fragile railing. As she went, she was struck constantly by the enormity of the great structure. She’d no idea of any such thing existing on Earth. Though it called to mind the great cathedrals of Byzantium, she’d never seen anything comparable in books or pictures.

  Suddenly, a board squeaked and broke beneath her right foot, driving a squeal from her lips as she grasped the railings. Her leg fell though the hole, but she quickly righted herself as the bridge swayed and boun
ced from the trauma. Her stomach rose up into her throat as she waited for the bouncing to stop, hoping not to hear another snap or feel the whole business fall out from under her in a sickly swell. She chided herself, knowing it’d been reckless to even try such a bridge. Hopefully she wouldn’t pay for the mistake with her life.

  It took an age of tense, careful steps to reach the outer wall. She expected to feel intense relief upon her arrival, but found her heart swelling with anxious disappointment. The walkway was built like the balconies that bordered the pillars - wooden and protruding from the wall. It was somewhat wider, but more corroded than even the bridge she’d just crossed. Several boards were missing, leaving wide gaps of open space so large she’d have to jump across. Other portions had sunken below the rest of the walkway, providing a further dubious prospect. And much of the walkway leaned downwards on the outside, as if to pour her out into the abyss. It was a treacherous prospect indeed. And all the while, the cold silence of the place haunted her.

  But, before she had the chance to move forward, a creaking sounded behind her - the shifting of footsteps. And she felt, with sudden and absolute certainty, the presence of someone there, like the lighting of a lamp in her mind. Turning round, she was confronted with an unnerving sight. A strange man approached, one with the countenance of a specter or a wraith. He seemed to move in slow motion, dark robes billowing about his form in hypnotic waves. His whole person was mesmeric, as if she’d crossed over into a dream. There was something ancient in the way he carried himself. He seemed unlike the men of her industrialized, mechanized generation; as if he’d never ridden in a car or conceived of a factory’s existence. He looked like a wizard of old tales, with dark hair hanging in long, salt-and-pepper clumps about his shoulders.